Authors: Anne McCaffrey
There was enough space in the MRI chamber to accommodate all three. The main sick bay was more than adequate for normal problems; a special section dealt with anoxia and other space accidents.
Only when Peter levitated himself to the required supine posture on the MRI bed did he feel the least bit apprehensive. He’d had numerous MRIs, but this time it was different.
Ceara took a set of the goggles from the hook near the programmable screen on the wall, which was out of Peter’s line of sight.
“These are virtual reality glasses. I can see the anatomic structures of your body, Peter.”
The shell of the MRI passed over his body and the results slowly began
to scroll down the screen. There was complete silence once the shell was back in the ready position.
“Well, I’d like to have Commander de Aruya verify this,” Ceara finally said, removing the glasses.
“Why, what’s wrong?” Johnny demanded before Peter could.
“Because the MRI shows me extensive neoneurogenesis.”
“What does that mean?” Johnny asked.
Peter smiled. He knew.
“The nerve endings are bonding. There’s an apparent reconnection of severed nerve endings, neurofilaments, nerves, and sheaths.” Ceara swallowed audibly. “No, I’m wrong. They have bonded! I can see the original insult to the spinal column. The severed microbundles are fused together. In the human body, the individual neuropils grow much like the roots of a plant.”
Peter’s mind stopped with that explanation. Grow? Like a plant?
Amariyah!
He was only peripherally aware of Ceara and Johnny discussing his original injury and paralysis, the recent fractures. Ceara was saying she wanted to compare this scan with all previous MRI files. Would the Center release them to her? And bring up a specialist, like Dr. Markstein? Could she now ask Commander de Aruya to give a second opinion?
“Does that mean Peter is no longer—” Johnny stopped, unable to voice a word he had scrupulously avoided using in Peter’s presence.
“From this MRI, the original injury has been healed. The nerves have rejoined: the spinal column is no longer severed.” She paused, took a deep breath. “Technically, he’s whole again. But that doesn’t mean it won’t take considerable time and effort for him to rehabilitate his muscles.” Ceara spoke slowly but with a tinge of awe in her voice. “He’s overcome so much already.”
“I think,” Peter began, unable to curb his irritation at being demoted to a “pronoun”—especially by Ceara—“that I would like to
feel
again!”
“Oh, Peter, I do apologize,” she said, bending down to look into his eyes where he still lay on the MRI pad. Her face was red with embarrassment. “How unprofessional of me. Here. Sit up.”
Even through his irritation, he felt her keenly mortified chagrin.
“Do you mind if I ask for Commander de Aruya’s opinion? This is out of my area of expertise.”
“Yes, of course,” Peter said, raising himself to a sitting position. He wondered what it would be like to make such a simple everyday movement
physically
. The shining fact was that possibly
now
he would have the choice! But more than that, he added very privately to himself, I would like to pee and crap like any other male. He’d managed to ignore the necessary presence of the waste-bag, but he would be so glad to be rid of the damned appliance
forever!
A
wiry fit man, Commander de Aruya kept his thick white hair trimmed like a skullcap and his dark eyes dominated a mature countenance. He gave a professional smile that faded the instant he saw the MRI screen. He shot Peter a startled look and another at Ceara. He donned the goggles and peered intently at the MRI image.
“Yes, I see.” He regarded the screen intently, an index finger tracing the image of Peter’s spinal column until he came to the old damage. “Mr. Reidinger, if you wouldn’t mind, may I do a second scan?” When Peter assented and resumed the supine position, he added. “Save this one, Dr. Scott.”
Peter, head in the chin rest, closed his eyes and fervently prayed with all his soul that the second reading would mirror the first. Dear, dear Amariyah! He couldn’t wait to hold her! Yes,
hold
her, in his arms and
feel
her dear body. Rhyssa and Dorotea would be over the moon. And he smiled at the phrase. He’d been there, too.
“Thank you, Mr. Reidinger,” said the smooth baritone voice of the commander. “You may sit up now.”
Ceara was empathing him very strong positive joyful encouraging thoughts.
Hey, Pete. Looks the same to me! Boy, are Rhyssa and Dorotea going to rejoice!
Johnny said triumphantly.
“Have you any idea how this neoneurotropism occurred?” De Aruya’s eyes were sparkling in his eagerness to hear Peter’s answer. “Somehow—and I’d give a lot to
know
how—your body has re-formed the vast network of nerve tendrils that comprise the nervous system in your spinal column.”
“I think,” and Peter considered his words, still awed by the miracle, “my friend, Amariyah, is a microkinetic. Only she doesn’t know it.”
“A microkinetic?” De Aruya was obviously having trouble crediting such a source.
Ceara did not. “Oh, my word, like Ruth Horvath was?”
“I can’t think of any other explanation, Commander,” Peter said, feeling his heart lift within him as he stared at the second MRI image on the screen. “It is a unique Talent and I know of no other person who is so gifted. She does have an extraordinary skill with plants. Nerves are, as Ceara just mentioned, filaments the way roots in a plant are.”
“Hmm,” and Commander de Aruya made the appropriate contemplative noise as he stood, left hand supporting his right arm as he rubbed his chin, eyes intent on the MRI.
The buzz of the comunit startled them all.
“Well?” asked Admiral Coetzer.
“He’s okay, Dirk. More than okay,” Johnny said, the nearest to the unit. “Much more than okay. And,” Johnny turned back to Ceara and the commander, “quite able to get on with his job. Aren’t you, Pete?”
Peter didn’t wait for permission but stood erect. “I am fit to continue the day’s schedule, am I not, Commander?”
“Well, yes, ah, I see no reason why not. May I access your records?” The commander recovered his poise sufficiently to be completely professional. “Whom do I ask?”
“Martin McNulty at the Eastern Parapsychic Center,” Peter politely supplied. “Coulson was the SA orthopedist who vetted me for my current duties.”
“Coulson, yes. Good man,” the commander said in an absent tone, obviously still trying to correlate the information on the MRI and his knowledge that Peter Reidinger had been paralyzed for much of his life.
“So, shall we get back to work, Pete?” Johnny asked, laying an affectionate hand on his arm.
Peter did feel that as the slightest pressure, closed his eyes, and smiled.
“You’re all right?” Johnny asked, increasing the pressure.
Peter opened his eyes and smiled. “I’ll need some calories when we’ve finished.”
“Any damn old thing you want,” Johnny said, separating the words in ardent assurance.
Let’s go and let the good doctor tell the commander all about us unique parapsychics
.
They ’ported back to the conference room.
And let us break the great news to Rhyssa and Dorotea before McNulty gives them coronaries by asking what the hell I’ve done to you. We’ve got a bit of time—enough for that—before we ship number three
.
A
MARIYAH!
The telepathed shrieks were not only in unison but also in a volume that conveyed the complex emotions of Rhyssa Lehardt and Dorotea Horvath: surprise, astonishment, incredulity, and consummate relief.
That’s Amariyah’s gift
, Dorotea said, moderating her tone.
Peter? You’re on the Station and able to talk to me directly? Rhyssa, you didn’t say anything …
Later, dear heart. Let’s digest this momentous news
, Rhyssa said.
D’you think it was the massages she gave you, Peter?
Dorotea’s query was nearly simultaneous.
Can you think of any other agency that would bond—regrow—nerve fibers? Bundles, filaments, sheaths? The whole nervous system? Remember her garden when the basketball smeared it? She
regrew
those plants, root, stem, branch, and leaf
.
That’s right. She did
, Dorotea said.
So she is, like your mother, a micro-Talent
, Rhyssa added.
I don’t think we’d better tell her yet
, Dorotea said in a very thoughtful tone.
That Peter’s healed?
Rhyssa was confounded.
Of course not. But if she doesn’t know
what
she does, let’s not inhibit her
. To which Peter agreed thoroughly. Dorotea went on,
She’s got to mature into her Talent. And now we know what it is, we can direct and strengthen it. Oh Peter, you’ll be able to
feel
again!
There was no doubt about Dorotea’s jubilation on that score.
It’s going to take time
, Johnny reminded them.
You may even wish you hadn’t
, Dorotea remarked in a very dry tone.
But it
will
be worth the effort, my dear, dear boy! Oh, it will!
Peter could almost visualize Dorotea, standing there, fists raised in triumph over this news.
When will you be downside?
she asked.
Unless I’m grounded by a higher authority
, Peter replied slyly,
I have two more weeks of this contract work period, long enough to make our First Base trip worthwhile
.
You’ll have no trouble doing that, Peter
, Rhyssa said at her drollest.
Don’t you skimp on calories when you’re doing such long ’ports
.
Commander de Aruya up here would like my file from Dr. McNulty
.
Yes, yes, of course
.
And Ceara recommended a neurologist, Finn Markstein
.
Martin McNulty will undoubtedly know whom to consult
, Rhyssa said.
Peter almost resented that tone of “we know best.” He reminded himself that Rhyssa did have his best interests at heart. And she might be recovering from the shock of the disclosure.
I
n Padrugoi’s security offices, Ensign Liz Predush was still matching surveillance tapes with the images of those who had visited the Station during the critical time when
Limo-34
could have been sabotaged. She was comparing faces of arrivals with those taken at other locations on every level. Suddenly a match sharpened her attention as the two screens blinked out a bingo! A match. One didn’t need a full-face image to make a match: the state-of-the-art imaging program analyzed not only the face, but also body type, height, mass, and any unusual characteristics. On arrival, a visitor’s image was taken full-face and then in profile as s/he moved through the security section. The program had enough data to provide positive identification.
“Georg Fraga,” she murmured to herself, noting the arrival data and then the fact that he had been on the boat deck where Flimflam had had his workshop; where
Limo-34
had been moored, awaiting her passengers. The person nearest him had his back to the surveillance lens. Her fingers flew over the pressure sensitive keys, enlarging the figure, hitting the “match” command.
“Well, lookit this,” Liz said, and no longer resented the long hours that culminated in this moment. “Commander Bindra? I got something to show you.”
“Georg Fraga?” Bindra leaned over her shoulder, eyes bugged out at the double match. “He’s Space Authority. He was supposed to be in Mai Leitao’s cabin until it was time to board the return shuttle.”
“And that’s Albert Ponce, sir. Can’t see his face but this guy matches him physically.” Liz enlarged the figure once again, sharpened the focus. “Him wearing Engineering tabs on his collar. Can just make ’em out. We can check with what was found in 7299A.”
Bindra straightened, slowly letting his breath out, feeling sharp triumph.
“Good work, Liz. I’d never have thought it of Fraga, though.”
“Everyone has a weakness, sir. Just as you keep telling me.”
“Yes, but what is Fraga’s?”
Ensign Predush sat back in her chair. It wasn’t up to her to comment about people in Fraga’s level.
“Document this, Liz, and I think we’d better give the data to Commissioner Roznine. It’ll be his baby downside.”
B
oris Roznine, in his official capacity, was paying a discreet visit to the Jerhattan headquarters of the Space Authority. As he approached the security barrier, he was rehearsing several approaches, so it was a distinct surprise when a large hand stopped him.
“Where might you be going, sir?” said the large muscled man who had halted his progress.
“I’m LEO,” Boris began, holding out his wrist.
“You don’t look it,” was the reply.
“What do you mean by that?” Boris was astonished by the response.
“Well, you don’t.”
Boris pushed forward, thrusting his wrist toward the reader to establish his identity.
“Oh, you’re the LEO Commissioner,” the guard said with a slight accent on the LEO, his expression amiable as he read the panel on the narrow decoder screen, steadily green in “identity confirmed” mode.
“I told you that.” Could the guard possibly be detaining him on purpose in order to give warning? “What did you think LEO meant?”
“It could be your astrological sign,” the guard suggested with an indolent shrug followed by a grin, “but you certainly aren’t a Low Earth Orbit.”
“Oh.” Boris was surprised. He’d never realized that there was an alternate version of the acronym, one that would certainly be in common currency at the Space Authority.
“To each his own,” the guard said, blithely waving him through the security arch and into the building.
Without further hindrance, Boris made his way to the elevator banks, cutting through the visitors in the huge, vaulted lobby, glancing only briefly at the model of Padrugoi suspended from the ceiling. He reached the level he required and told the attentive security woman at the desk that he wished to see Secretary Abubakar immediately. Impassively she gestured to the wrist reader inset in the desk and her manner became considerably more cordial as it clarified his rank and identity. She leaned over the comunit and announced his presence. Obviously the answer was positive for she escorted him to the end of the hall and, opening the door, gestured for him to enter.